The remedy for loneliness ever elusive: My Word

June 23, 2014|By Ken Kron

A recent USA Weekend item about loneliness hit a nerve. It stated that lonely people are much more likely to die prematurely. Most of us have friends who, we know, are lonely. How much time should we give to them? Our proposed solutions are trite, easy to mouth, but …

I recall the two times in my 78 years that I was extremely lonely.

The first time was in 1954 when I was in the Army and was sent to Fort Benning outside of Columbus, Ga., after basic training at Fort Dix, N.J. I was from Connecticut and in a strange culture. Around me were soldiers in a newly integrated Army who enjoyed country music from radio station WWVA in Wheeling, W.Va., or bragged about taking the buses into Columbus to see their girlfriends.

I knew no one. I was out of my element. Months went by before I connected with new friends.

In 1956 it was worse. I had been discharged to go to college in eastern Tennessee. One of the first things I did was to go to a home football game. I remember sitting in the bleachers with hundreds of students wearing their freshman-required orange beanies all around me. (Because I was a military veteran, I didn't have to wear a beanie.) I felt alone, totally estranged.

Such loneliness tore into my soul. Each time I thought, "What in the world am I doing in this foreign place?" As I think about this six decades later, it still hurts.

After my wife's father died, her mother constantly complained about being lonely. We tried the best we could, but we were busy professionals and lived in Kentucky 164 miles away. We were conscientious but there was only so much we could do: Visit her on weekends, and return home on Sunday night.

We tried to tell her that she had to establish her own routine such as invite one of her Sunday School friends to come for lunch or just to talk. She didn't drive. She was in her 80s. What could she do? What could we do? She was sure we were intentionally neglecting her.

And then there are our elderly friends now. What can we do? What are we willing to do? Not much. Not enough. That's the rub. We want to be helpful, but there are no easy answers.